Glimpse
by Nerikla
Summary: How well do we ever really know each other? One hundred word glimpses.
1. blink

(**Author's Note: **So, I've been admiring 100 word drabbles for quite some time. I find them absolutely marvelous. I know I've been churning out a lot of random stuff lately; for some reason, my mind is back in fanfiction mode, and even though I'm busy with final exams I can't stay away from writing.

There will be a different theme for every drabble. I'm not sure who I'm borrowing this idea from, but I know I've seen a few people experiment with it and I love it. 100 words are all that are needed, really, to leave a powerful mark and a glimpse into a life.

That said, here goes!)

- - - - -

The picture was almost unrecognizable. It had been cut from a newspaper obituary; the ink had bled everywhere, all over his pockets and hands, rubbed away until the woman in the photograph was a gray blur.

Every night, Blink took this picture out. He kissed it lovingly, his lips delicately brushing the faded paper. He folded it carefully and slid it into his pocket for safekeeping.

One morning, Snipeshooter teased him about this womanly routine.

The words had barely left his lips before Racetrack slugged the kid, hard.

"Watch what ya say about other people's mothers," the boy snarled fiercely.


	2. spot

He remembered the face, sweaty and enraged, that often appeared above the couch that he slept on. He would wait, struggling not to cry out, his own mouth set with wavering bravery.

"Doan' you ever look at me like that," his father would warn, seizing him by his shirt and lifting him to his feet.

He would wait, silently, for the blows to come. Though he was terrified, he would never show this emotion. His father beat him because he would not scream for mercy.

Now that he was older, and no longer weak, Spot intended to return the favor.


	3. boots

It was a cold February night: cruel and unforgiving. Boots remembered how he had slept outdoors as a child, cradled by a bench in Central Park. Times were different now; he had a warm bed, and true friends, yet he could not shake the frost from his memory.

He shivered in his sleep. He often woke, curled up, terrified of something he could never articulate. Just a nightmare, he always told Jack, his words uncertain.

Yet it was a memory, not a nightmare, and so could not be readily dismissed. He curled his toes, head bent, and prayed for summer.


	4. mush

Mush met them at the gate with an unusual swagger in his step.

They immediately noticed his saucy, too-casual grin; demanding a story, they thumped their friend on the back with merciless force, whooping. Mush hardly noticed. The morning looked beautiful and warm, just perfect, and he felt so alive that he wanted to kiss everyone who walked past.

They urged him to give details, cursing and cuffing him until he responded. He broke free, jutting a foot in the iron-wrought gate, and hoisted himself up.

"I got laid, boys!" he cried, flinging an arm wide open to the sunlight.


	5. snoddy

Snoddy found a decrepit staircase to sit on. Cigarette in one hand, switchblade in the other, he methodically clicked the blade open and closed. The silver was visible for one moment, deadly, and then disappeared into its deceptively innocent handle.

"You're fuckin' crazy. Whaddya need a knife for?" asked Itey as he passed.

Snoddy generally ignored these comments - he knew that the other boys would never understand. To test this theory, he took a drag off of his cigarette and replied, "Y'know. Just in case."

Itey continued to walk away, smirking. "Fuckin' crazy," he repeated, and he meant it.


	6. jack

The glass was rimmed with lipstick. Jack picked it up with a furrowed brow, turning it in his hand. The red smudges looked like bruises.

He turned to watch the whore remove her blouse. He took a tentative sip from the glass- the brandy stung his throat like cheap poison.

"What's your name?" he asked, blinking hard. It was bright in this room– too bright. Her skirt was dizzyingly blue, ruffled and covered in flowers. It hurt to look for too long.

"It's Sarah," the whore said.

Jack inhaled sharply. It's not her, he reminded himself. Just a cheap copy.


	7. david

Everyone around the table was laughing. The sound filled the room. It made it difficult to breathe; David wheezed through his mouth, gritting his teeth like he'd just been punched.

"It's so nice to have the family together," his mother commented.

"Maybe if David cared more about us, and less about money, we'd be together more," Sarah added. Silence followed.

David narrowed his eyes and tore his bread into several large pieces. "I'm the reason why we're eating," he said softly, slowly. "I'm the reason why we're together right now."

"Don't," his mother pleaded, "please don't talk about this."


End file.
